


More Fuss About Less, or, A Story Kilt With Kindness

by executrix



Category: Blake's 7, Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: Fusion, M/M, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The warriors of Seimnas just don't understand the relationship between Blake and Avon. But then, neither do they. The Liberator crew offer a few speculations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Fuss About Less, or, A Story Kilt With Kindness

1\. (Computer Central, Seimnas)  
The computer equipment in the capital city of the rebel planet Seimnas had delusions of being pathetic, but the acoustics in the watchtower were splendid. Avon could hear it every time his assistant, Held, galloped across to the window. 

So far, Avon rated Held's contribution to the computer repairs as somewhere between a serious case of poison ivy and one-and-a-half pursuit ships, but his Meegat antibodies prevented him from destroying the illusions of intense youngsters with clouds of fair hair and fanatical blue eyes.

"Oh, I can't wait for the warband to return," Held breathed. "I'll see Kladdo again! And you'll see Blake again! I know you've missed him every bit as much."

Although there were no communications between the base and the warband, Held spent hours at the one working personalcomm every night, writing love letters to Kladdo, then deleting them, knowing they could never be sent.

The one aspect of the mission that Avon enjoyed was its absence of Blake. He'd mentioned that, with repetitions tailored to the lad's attention span, to Held quite often. But nothing would modify Held's rueful and envious belief that Blake and Avon, although they were more than old enough to marry and become householders, continued to be lovers. 

That wasn't the Seimnas way. Sex, and even love affairs, between young men of military age, were tolerated, but in most cases that was quite firmly put aside at 25. At 19, Held thought that Kladdo was terrifyingly wise and experienced, but knew that although his love would endure forever, Kladdo's family were already negotiating for a bride for him, and the wedding would take place at the next harvest.

"Hahaha!" Held said. "You're such a kidder! I know you're crazy about him, it's written all over you!"

"Ah, here they come now," Avon said. "I must find out how many troopers Blake has killed."

"So you can make a ballad about his valor?"

"No," Avon said. "Because I promised to eat, all that he killed." It would have to be an improvement over the local cuisine, Avon thought. Gluey porridge every morning, vat protein, bitter greens, and gritty flatbread noon and night. Terrible food, and such small portions!

Then there was a third person in the room: Jun, the armorer, who had somehow managed to glide in noiselessly. He tore his gaze away from Held's back, and said, "You know, if Blake ever heard you had imputed his honor, he'd be entitled to demand satisfaction from you."

"The only satisfaction Blake wants from me is dragging this cybernetic elephants' graveyard into the thirtieth century."

"He means a duel," said Held, to whom the concept of irony was foreign and who hated messed-up foreign ideas quite as much as John Bull hated messed-up foreign dishes. "Third order duel, by hand-to-hand combat, second order duel, with the weapon of the insulted man's choice, first order duel to the death."

"I came to tell you," Jun said, "That the band has returned."

The stones echoed as Held raced down the twisting staircase of the tower. 

Avon saw the bitter need on Jun's face. "Don't worry," he said. "There's always another idiot with a pretty face and a big cock."

"You wouldn't say that if you had a man's heart in you," Jun said. Then he glided out, equally noiselessly. Avon wanted to get back to work, but he realized that Held had run off with Orac's key.

2\. (Liberator)

"Three and three," Vila said.

"Blake? Certainly not," Gan said. "He's a real man's man."

Vila snickered. "So you're putting him down for six?"

"Which way do the numbers run again?" Gan looked at the betting slip. "Certainly not! Blake 0, Avon 4."

Jenna sighed. She was convinced that Avon's seduction attempts on the London had been avid enough, whereas Blake's sudden decline in perceptiveness whenever Jenna aimed a hint his way…"Blake 6, Avon 2."

"Oh, I'll never understand Terrans," Cally said. "I'll go along with whatever Jenna said."

3\. (The Place of the Warriors)

Avon, a leg man (inter alia), enjoyed the spectacle of dozens of blond, bronzed warriors clad in short tunics over coarse linen shirts, sandals, and greaves, dismounting, slinging their spears into a heap, tilting back long-maned heads to drink from goatskins, and generally emitting a testosterone fog. 

Then his gaze was riveted by the one pair of trousers and one pair of boots. Blake, however, had gone native to the extent of four weeks' growth of hair tumbling over the back of his shirt collar, four weeks' growth of beard haloing his face. "Ah, Kladdo," he said to the young man at his side. "This lively ray of sunshine is the computer expert I lent you."

Kladdo wasn't listening--when Held ran to his arms, he embraced him, then spun him around until his own head was ringing. 

Kladdo stamped on the ground and bellowed, "Silence!" The noisy courtyard quieted down. "General Perdo, I beg a boon!"

The General stretched out his hand. "To one so valiant as you, any boon will be granted!"

"Then tomorrow night, let me have a feast, to celebrate the Warrior's Bond!"

The silence sprung into murmurs. Now, this was high drama. The two men in Warrior's Bond could never marry, never breed. They must remain always in the army, and could never become householders. If one of them died, the other could never bond again.

"Granted, with a will!" Perdo shouted. "Double rations, and triple rations of ale!"

Held said nothing by way of verbal consent, but then the nature of the passionate embrace with his bondmate precluded anything in the way of actual words.

Everyone clapped and cheered. The loving couples clasped hands. Oh, everyone but Jun, who had no partner and who had left (no one quite noticed, or indeed noticed that they hadn't noticed).

4\. (Liberator)  
"It's obvious," Jenna said. "They've done it and stopped," Jenna said. "As soon as Blake came to his senses, he gave Avon the push."

"I don't think so," Cally said. "We all would have noticed when they did it, and Avon wouldn't stay around if Blake gave him the elbow. I say, perhaps three or four weeks after they get back."

"Planet like that," Gan said, "Where they get up to that sort of thing…well, they must be at it down there. Blake's good-natured, you know, and Avon can be very artful when he wants to be."

"They'll wait till they get back," Vila said, updating the file with the latest wagers. "But not for very long after."

5\. (The Armory)

Kladdo, wearing his best plaid slung over his shoulder, his hair oiled and plaited, had a few hours before the Bonding feast, so he strode to the armory to see if his new consignment of arrows was ready.

"He doesn't love you, you know," Jun said.

Kladdo knocked him down. From the floor, wiping his mouth, Jun said, "What would you do if I could prove that he was a lying slut?"

"Then I'd shame him in front of all of our Band."

"Turn up tonight then," Jun said. "And see what I have to show you. You'll get what you want, or you'll get the truth."

6\. (The Place of the Warriors)

The drummers were out in full force. Mercifully, four of the pipers were dead drunk in the Warriors' House. The yeasty, surprisingly potable ale flowed freely.

Held, breathless with excitement, stood by the BondFire. A few minutes later, he was joined by Perdo and Kladdo. The flutes joined the pipes and drums. 

Kladdo and Held clasped hands above the fire, but Held searched his lover's eyes for any sign of the passionate love he felt himself, and could have sworn Kladdo felt for him. 

Kladdo stamped his foot, and they began to walk around the fire. When they completed the seventh turn, they would be Bonded forever.

At the fourth turn, Jun materialized, a pile of printouts in his hand, and Kladdo and Held stopped their processional. "Look what your whore gave me," Jun said. He selected one at random. "Darling, I long for you," he read in a mocking tone. "An hour without you is torture. A night without you is more than I can stand." He took out another one. "I want you inside me," he read. "I want to touch you, I want to kiss you, you're the only man I've ever felt this way about."

Kladdo dropped Held's hand. "Stupid twat," he said, and walked away.

Held opened his mouth to say something, then passed out cold, slumping into the nearest pair of arms, which happened to be Avon's.

"Here, you take him," Avon said, passing the limp bundle over to the person standing nearest him, who happened to be Blake. "I'll go get him something to eat."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"First he was so touchingly serious about thinking he was helping me that he'd forget to eat. Then, bridal nerves today. Oh, and I expect he's as drunk as a lord--or one of those wretched pipers. Take care of the hypoglycemia, and he'll be right as rain."

"Don’t his feelings count for anything?" Blake asked.

"Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them," Avon said. "But not for love alone."

7\. (Another Part of the Forest)  
Avon walked back toward the barracks, and Blake followed him.

"I think it's a tragedy," Blake said. "He must have loved Held so much, to be willing to sacrifice everything for him. And then to find out that he was betrayed!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Avon said. "What the great lump didn't realize is that all those letters were written to him. Love letters written by stupid people nourished on shopgirl fiction are all alike, you know."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"There really didn't seem to be a moment for reasoned argument. I'm sure that tomorrow, or whenever the hangovers wear off, they'll make it all up."

" It can't be as simple as that, Avon. They're obsessed by honor."

"So you think that someone will have to fight someone? Seems a bit pointless, really. Even more pointless than your holy war against the Federation."

"You mean, that you're conceding that my--our--struggle has some scintilla of worth, of validity, if only in comparison?"

Avon couldn't think of a suitable response (it was a bit like "when did you stop beating your wife?" really) so he started to walk back toward the plaza. He discovered that not only was Blake walking beside him, but was holding his hand. 

"Infected by the customs of the country, Blake?"

"Oh, everyone congratulated me on the success of our bond, which, considering our advanced ages, must have been going on for a decade at least. I might as well get some benefit. And I rather like the native hairstyles."

Avon, unprepared to concede that they suited Blake, said, "Hirsute lovers are very inconvenient…rather like a hessian duvet."

"Ah…then if I didn't have the beard, then you would?…"

"If you want to construct hypotheticals, I suppose I might kiss you, yes."

"And, hypothetically, that's all? One kiss? Well, that's romantic, I suppose."

"And the single moment of romance would be enough?"

"If the alternative were raw lust, then I'd be hard-pressed to choose."

"How tedious. A few moments of crude grappling, then a snoring--albeit smooth-shaven--lout asleep in my arms?"

"As opposed to?"

"Well, I suppose if there could be found a bit of privacy and a location with a soft surface devoid of fleas…well, I might caress every inch of your smooth skin, and get my face down your shirt and taste every atom of you…"

"Ah," Blake said blandly. "I accept."

"But…" Avon said.

"Anything I can do for you?"

"Well, kill Kladdo, as a start," Avon said.

"It's no joke to them," Blake said. "Duels and so forth."

"I've often wondered how this robotically rigid group ever stumbled into rebellion," Avon said. "If they insist on telling everyone when to love men, when to stop loving men, when to marry…"

"Society does have to be propagated."

"A man doesn't have to be married to do that," Avon said. "Come to it, even if they won't spend the money for a proper cloning operation--I know it's a poor planet, but some things are just worth the money!--a man doesn't even have to be there. If he doesn't care about the woman or if they don't feel attracted to each other, he might as well place his contribution in a petri dish and let the technicians get on with it."

"Hmmm. Then you're assigning some value to love, or at least to attraction?"

"But…" Avon said.

By this time, they had arrived back at the Place of the Warriors. The party had more or less broken up. Kladdo located the first available grudge-fuck, and was now asleep at one end of the barracks. Held, revived with flatbreads and proteose, was now passed out again at the other end of the barracks, four over the eight.

There were still enough men around to form a murmuring crowd when Jun reappeared. He clapped Blake on the back. "This man has traduced you," he announced. "I heard him. He laughed at your skill as a warrior."

"Is that all?" Blake said. "I'm bloody lucky. He's usually up to laughing at my cognitive capacity and personal hygiene before he's had his second cup of coffee."

To Jun's puzzled look, Avon said, "It's a stimulating hot beverage frequently consumed with the morning meal."

Jun turned to his half-brother Perdo. "Can you follow this man? Can you trust the lives of your men to him?" he asked. "A warrior who lets his honor be laughed to scorn?"

Now this, Blake thought, was serious. He stamped his foot, called for silence, and slapped Avon across the face. "I challenge this man to a Third Order duel, to avenge the slight to my honor." His hand tingled a little. It felt just as wonderful as it had all those times he fantasized about it. He glanced urgently over at Avon: play along! he signaled.

Avon's eyes flashed back: Christ Almighty, not another plan! Oh, all right. 

"And as the injured party, and to honor the noble warriors of Seimnas," Blake declaimed, "I demand that the duel be fought in native costume. Tomorrow at dawn."

8\. (Dawn. A Mudhole.)

A crowd of worse-for-wear warriors straggled around the arena.  
Avon's first thought was, I always wondered what they wore under those get-ups. And I was right. His second thought was, you've shaved your beard! His third thought was that Blake looked decidedly striking in the costume.  
General Perdo gave the signal to begin. Blake rushed at Avon, who sidestepped, anxious about the performance of his very new sandals on a slick surface.

"Come on! Be a man!" one of the onlookers shouted. "Don't run away!"

Avon shook his head. He quite enjoyed either the participant or spectator virtues of penises, but didn't see the point of the local version of masculinity. 

Blake lunged forward again. Avon stood his ground, no longer willing to retreat. He managed to push Blake away, but almost lost his footing on the slippery surface. The third time Blake advanced, Avon let him get his arms around him, then lifted up on his toes and pushed back. Of course, he lost his balance, and toppled down, pushing Blake under him. 

There was a loud slapping noise as several hundredweight of Liberator crew displaced the mud. 

Avon pinned Blake's arms, but there didn't seem to be anywhere for his legs to go but between Blake's, which displaced both of the kirtles on the short tunics, so one of the reasons he froze was embarrassment.

That was enough for Blake to take the advantage again, rolling them over. He broke his arms free and rested one hand lightly on Avon's throat. "Do you surrender?"

"*And* the horse you rode in on," Avon said, giving the spectators their moneys' worth by fighting as hard as he could given the nature of the surface, the sporting disadvantage he was at, and the unwillingness he discovered to actually hurt Blake.

A few strenuous minutes later, a hard-breathing but serene-faced Blake stood up, planted one sandal on Avon's back, and said, "Well, I'm satisfied. We can call it a draw."

"Very well," General Perdo said, his eyes sparkling. He was sure that his bondmate Geutha, who was on sentry duty, would fully enjoy the account of the duel that Perdo planned to deliver at the end of the watch.

"Oh, and Avon…" Blake said, "Tell them all what you told me."

"I saw Held writing those love letters," Avon said. There was a bee-loud murmur in the glade. "He wrote them to Kladdo, of course. Then he deleted them, Jun un-deleted them, and printed them out, claiming that they were written to him. But that was a lie."

They went in search of Jun, but he was nowhere to be found. He had already hit the road, assuming that there would always be vacancies in the Travis Corps. Most of them went in search of Jun--Kladdo was apologizing to Held.

Blake took off one of the bangles with which he accessorized his native costume, slipped it onto Avon's wrist, and called for teleport.

9\. (Liberator Teleport Bay)  
"I've never been--well, I have been more humiliated in my life, but that was a milestone nevertheless," Avon said. "Whatever were you thinking?" He brushed at the mud and so forth splashed on his tunic.

"Oh, as soon as I saw those get-ups, I wondered what you'd look like in one of them. Or, more importantly, how you'd feel."

"Most of what you felt was several pounds of very wet silicates."

"It's the rest that counts, though. All right, why don't we go off and check messages and clean up…meet me in my cabin in…say, half an hour. We'll try it your way. I liked the bit about tasting every atom."

10\. (Flight Deck)  
"Dammit!" Vila said. "The monitor's off. The sound's off. Whatever happened to the Open Door Policy?"

Gan shuddered. "I don't think Blake would want you watching while he buggered Avon," he said seriously.

"Well, you've changed your tune," Jenna said.

"Buggery?" Vila said, keying on the wagering program. "That's your bet, then?"

"Vila, I don't see how you could verify that," Cally said. "No bet."

Vila tabbed over to the column with his name on it. "Jenna, how d'you spell 'fellatio'?"

"That is the one long word you'd know. Why ask me?"

"A long, hard word," Vila said. "Cos you look like you'd be a good…speller," he said, as Jenna came within arm's length. "Just think about it. If Blake was stuffing him, Avon'd still be able to tell him how he was doing it wrong. Naah, Blake's a practical man. Best of both worlds. That mouth…and not able to give him an argument."

##################

**Author's Note:**

> In 2002, Nova wrote "A Lot of Fuss About Nothing," based on "Much Ado." This is my remix. Willa Shakespeare's take on the situation, "Nothing I'd Rather Do," http://archiveofourown.org/works/1154098 also appeared in Fire and Ice 8 (2005).


End file.
